


The List

by collie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Human Scott, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Pre-Series, Sexual Experimentation, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/pseuds/collie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The list was Stiles' idea.</p><p>On the back of the piece of notebook paper they'd been using to keep a tally of games won, he wrote down 'kiss me, dumbass' and crossed it off as a joke, laughing like it was something that they'd gotten out of the way, so now they'd never have to wonder what it was like. Now they'd never have to suffer through an awkward drunk moment when they were older.</p><p>Scott, however, was the one that grabbed the list and wrote 'jerk off together watching porn' on the second line, before giving Stiles a challenging little smile and grabbing his laptop. Forty-five minutes later, Stiles had crossed that one off the list as well, with a very satisfied smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handsies in the Back of a Squad Car

**Author's Note:**

> Possible trigger warning? This story contains two boys getting down and dirty with each other from the ages of 13 to 16, so if _pretty underage_ underage squicks you, then please move along with my blessings.
> 
> This story is for [Nixy](http://convoluted.nixy.org/), who got me into this 'ship in the first place. I didn't want it, I didn't like it, but she showed me the light and now I'm a believer. ;D
> 
> No show spoilers because this takes place pre-canon.
> 
> [Kids & Heroes](http://galaxied.tumblr.com/post/65701562417) (Punk Rock fanmix)
> 
>  **Edit:** [BK DID A DRAMATIC PORN READING](http://ionsquare.tumblr.com/post/76715718020) (spoiler alert tho) LOL. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 2014 TO ME.

Scott and Stiles are fourteen, and this is the first time the sheriff has ever thrown them into the back of a squad car for any reason other than just for fun.

 This time it's maybe kind of serious, because Stiles and Scott might have gotten caught attempting to steal a bunch of candy from from gas station down the street from the Stilinski's house. The owner called the sheriff directly instead of calling the station because it wasn't _that_ big of a deal, but still.

 Stiles tried to argue. He tried to maneuver, he had excuses; he even tried to make deals with his dad, but to no avail. The sheriff was firm. The boys were going to be handcuffed (in the front, of course) and taken down to the station. They would be fingerprinted. No charges were being pressed because the stolen candy had been returned, and they _were_ just two dumbass kids, but both the sheriff and Melissa McCall agreed that maybe they needed a little taste of what breaking the law _really_ felt like. Their first real, extreme act of tough love.

 Which is why they currently find themselves locked in the backseat of the cruiser while Stiles' dad sits inside the gas station with the manager on shift, enjoying a cup of coffee and chatting about baseball. Being stuck back here is a punishment. It's character-building. It's for their own good. It's–

 “It's so _hot_ in here,” Stiles whines, letting his head loll back against the seat as his knees dig into the metal mesh that separates the backseat from the front. He's already pretty tall for his age, having hit a growth spurt just last year, which is pretty cool except when he's been handcuffed and squished in the back of a squad car. They're not exactly built for comfort.

 “Shut up, Stiles,” Scott rolls his eyes, continuing to stubbornly stare out the window just like he's been doing ever since the sheriff put them in here. “It's all your fault we're in here so just deal with it.”

 “Oh, right, it's _my_ fault you decided to steal M &Ms,” Stiles complains, looking annoyed. “They're the _noisiest_ candy. When you broke that bag it was like you threw a billion BB gun pellets at a library window.”

 “We wouldn't have even been _doing_ it if it hadn't been for you!” Scott grumbles, open annoyance in his tone. “I'm telling you, Lydia Martin doesn't want candy, dude. She wants flowers.”

 “She's allergic to flowers,” Stiles protests, twisting his body to jam his shoulder as hard as he can into Scott's.

 Scott frowns and furrows his brow as he twists away from Stiles. “Oh.”

 “Yeah,” Stiles makes a face at Scott.

 “You're still a dumbass,” Scott rolls his eyes and turns to look back out the window.

 “Whatever, at least I–” Stiles cuts himself off with a dramatic inhalation of breath, like he's just remember the most super-important thing of all time, and Scott can almost hear the gears shifting in his head. “Dude,” he whispers suddenly, his eyes sliding from the window they're both peering out of to land on Scott's profile. “ _Dude_. Remember the list?”

 “What?” Scott asks as he turns to give Stiles a confused look. “List? What are you talking about?”

 Stiles gasps softly, his mouth hanging open as he adopts an expression of exaggerated offense. He shifts toward Scott and leans a shoulder against him as he digs into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet a second later. “The _list_ , stupid.” he huffs, and from between the fold of his nylon Batman wallet he pulls out an oldish, worn piece of several-times-folded notebook paper and flicks it at Scott with two slender fingers.

 “Seriously?” Scott hisses, scrabbling to grab the folded note out of his lap and curling his fist around it, before glancing around outside to make sure no one's watching them; acting like they're in some sort of spy movie or something. Like there's any way in hell _anyone_ could _possibly_ know what's on that list except them.

 Stiles grins. Grins and waggles his eyebrows slowly. Grins, waggles his eyebrows, and nods at Scott.

 “ _No_ ,” Scott says emphatically as he slaps his hand against Stiles' chest, note trapped between his palm and the warm material of his tee-shirt.

 “Oh, come on!” Stiles protests. “When are we ever gonna get a chance like this again?”

 Scott turns a glare on him. “Hopefully never!” he says irritably. “I don't want to get arrested again!”

 Stiles says nothing, only lifts his eyebrows and lets his smile grow again, slower this time, as if waiting for Scott to catch on. Scott just stares for a moment, his brow furrowing like he's trying to read Stiles' mind, before his eyebrows shoot up and his face clears.

 “Oh!” he exclaims, leaning back again as Stiles laughs and nods, as well. “Right, because this _is_ hopefully going to be the only chance we get...”

 “Exactly,” Stiles says. “We've already done the first two things on the list, and since we all of a sudden have the chance, we should totally do number three. Plus, the handcuffs make it kind of kinky, so...” He grins and adopts his best 'sexy' face, which only makes Scott snicker even more.

 THE LIST, which is in all capital letters to signify its' importance, is something Scott and Stiles wrote when they were thirteen after a particularly enlightening night of video games and sugar highs at the McCall's house. Mrs. McCall had the night shift and Stiles had a new video game, so they stayed up half the night killing zombies and stuffing their faces with pretty much anything and everything in the kitchen that contained sugar.

 Stiles woke abruptly on the couch at about 4:47am to find Scott splayed out half on top of him, lips parted where they rested against his shoulder, and boner rutting against his hip. Whatever dream Scott had been having, Stiles found himself his best friend's real-life counterpart that night.

 Stiles kissed Scott for the first time that night, and it was kind of nice. Actually, it was _really_ nice and not weird at all, which warmed the awkward roil in his stomach. That first kiss is always nerve-wracking, because you never know if you're going to get kissed back or punched, but half-asleep-Scott returned the kiss with enthusiasm...

 ...at least until he finally woke up.

 The conversation was a little embarrassing because neither of them had ever expressed any sort of attraction for boys before, and it left them both sitting around uncomfortably with obvious hard-ons and no idea what to do with them, or with each other. So Stiles just threw caution to the wind and kissed Scott again; kissed him completely awake and totally aware, and they both agreed that their friendship was _their_ friendship, and if they wanted to kiss sometimes then that was their business.

 The list was Stiles' idea, too. 

On the back of the piece of notebook paper they'd been using to keep a tally of games won, he wrote down 'kiss me, dumbass' and crossed it off as a joke, laughing like it was something that they'd gotten out of the way, so now they'd never have to wonder what it was like. Now they'd never have to suffer through an awkward drunk moment when they were older.

Scott, however, was the one that grabbed the list and wrote 'jerk off together watching porn' on the second line, before giving Stiles a challenging little smile and grabbing his laptop. Forty-five minutes later, Stiles had crossed that one off the list as well, with a very satisfied smile.

 As such, Stiles blames Scott for taking things to the next level, and as such, Scott's not getting away with not giving him a handjob in the back of his dad's cruiser. It's sacrosanct; written in stone. It's on _the list_.

 Stiles huffs and smooths the old, wrinkled piece of paper out on his thigh and pokes a finger against it, just underneath the first scribbled item that hasn't been crossed out.

1\. ~~kiss me, dumbass~~  
2\. ~~mutual jerking off while watching porn~~  
3\. handsies in the back of a squad car  
4\. blowjobs???

 “You can't argue with that, man,” Stiles says with as much noble authority as a horny, half-adult his age can muster. “Unless you wanna jump right to number four.”

 “Your dad could come back any minute!” Scott protests, always the voice of reason, to which Stiles responds with an annoyed twist of his lips.

 “Fine, I'll fix it,” he grumbles, lifting his hips up as much as he can to once again gain access to his pocket. It's a few seconds of backseat gymnastics but he finally manages to tug his phone out of his front pocket and quickly swipes it on. The tip of his tongue plays over his lower lip as his thumbs fly over the on-screen keyboard, and it's not until Scott thinks to look that Stiles sends the text.

 He gives Scott a smug smile and holds out his phone so he can read the screen: _‹h_ _ow much longer, dad? come on, this suuuucks_ _›_ _,_ and not a minute later the chime of a return text sounds.

 ‹ _You'll be home in time to do your homework before you go to bed. Consider the rest of your night, and many nights hereafter, spoken for._ _›_ the sheriff sends back.

 “We have at least another hour before he comes out,” Stiles says with a knowing smile as he lets his phone slide off to the other side of his lap, caught between his thigh and the door. “I know exactly how my dad thinks. He'll tack on extra time just because I sent him that text,” he snickers.

 “That's both brilliant and absolutely stupid of you,” Scott laughs, even as he's scooting around as Stiles moves in, both trying to make a little room for the other to maneuver. “Because now we're stuck in here for another hour, and that _sucks_.”

 “Stop being such a whiner,” Stiles chews his lower lip, his cuffed hands shooting straight for Scott's fly and managing to get it open with little trouble. It's not like they're zip-tied or anything, and there's enough slack on the connecting chain for them to be able to feel each other up to their heart's content.

 Scott likes to kiss. He likes it slow, and he likes to do things with his teeth like bite at Stiles' lips, and leave those tiny little hickeys on his skin, and it's _great_. Stiles is more of a sucker; he sucks on Scott's tongue and his lower lip, and he'd _love_ to be able to suck on something else, but there's just not enough room back here. Plus, it's just too risky. But Stiles thinks about sucking Scott's dick a lot, and the fact that he's already hard in his jeans is evidence of that.

 “Hurry,” Scott breathes as his hands mimic Stiles', and despite the taller boy being the one stretched out over the smaller with a knee shoved up between Scott's thighs, they're both too young to care about any sort of dominance crap. This is about equal satisfaction and the thrill of forbidden fun.

 “Never a problem with you,” Stiles says, his grin mischievous as he shoves a hand, shaking gently with nervous energy, into Scott's boxers to find his best friend already just as hard as he is.

 “Shut up, jerk,” Scott half-heartedly grumbles, because his eyelids are fluttering and squeezing shut with the distraction of heat crawling his skin. His stomach twists with the deep, throbbing, and instant pleasure that comes with things like this; things that are still new and amazing. Things that still spark his brain awake and tickle his nerves in amazing ways.

 Neither of them have steady hands, and the rhythm they attempt is clumsy at best, but they're definitely not looking for perfection. They're more obsessed with the hot breath between their panting mouths, and how fucking good it feels to _almost_ kiss but not to. There's no way to keep emotions out of this; they're both too young to be so jaded, but rocking against each other while hands tug frantically at dicks still only sparsely-edged with hair isn't exactly romantic.

 “Ow!” Stiles hisses, squirming a bit and glaring down at Scott's hand stilling inside his jeans as his friend goes rigid beneath him.

 “Sorry!” Scott whispers dramatically, eyes wide. “Sorry.. what did I do?”

 “Too hard,” Stiles laughs weakly, tongue darting out over his own lips as he stares at Scott's mouth, his hips rocking against Scott's hand and nudging at it, like a cat bumping his head to be petted. “S'fine... don't stop.”

 “We should, uh...” Scott begins as he relaxes again beneath Stiles, his hand sliding up along his best friend's smooth, rigid flesh and cupping around the swollen head, earning him a choked sound from Stiles. “We should steal some lube, or something,” he rasps softly.

 Stiles' hand mimics Scott's because they're both still learning, and if it feels good to him then chances are it'll feel good to Scott. He drops his face and buries it in his friend's neck, giving an irritated little sound as he ruts against Scott's hand, because this is definitely more difficult than he thought it was going to be. It's so hard to concentrate on getting off when he has to concentrate on getting _Scott_ off. Sometimes it's just better to be selfish... or maybe they just need a little more practice. Either option works for him.

 Scott actually has his tongue caught between his teeth and looks a little silly; well, he looks _blissful_ , really, because he's not over-thinking things like Stiles. He's just letting himself feel. Feeling the way Stiles' thumb swipes over the tip of his dick and rubs precum slippery over his aching flesh, and the way those long fingers curl around him with something that's not quite confidence, but maybe an easiness. And maybe that's even better.

 Scott turns his head and presses his lips against Stiles', prodding his tongue against his teeth before pushing fully into his mouth. The soft groan he eats shoots a zing straight down to his balls, and there's nothing that makes Scott feel like more of a man than when Stiles bucks his hips up, desperate, and he can feel his best friend's cock throbbing against his palm.

 There's certainly no grace to it; it's clumsy and desperate, and leaves both boys gasping and crushed together, with sticky hands and thudding hearts, but they finally manage to make each other come. They're both hot and flushed, and Stiles snickers without a filter and can't stop grinning, his eyes bright and pretty. Scott's a little more shy about it, and doesn't like to make eye contact right after they get off, but he's usually the first one to talk. To break the silence.

 “Uh... socks?” he offers as he slips his hand out of Stiles' jeans, holding it aloft like it's either profane or sacred, because the last thing he wants to do is get the sheriff's son's spunk all over the backseat of the cruiser. That would be... well, there would be bad questions.

 “Yep,” Stiles chirps cheerily as he toes off one of his sneakers, and Scott does the same. They both know how this goes, and oddly neither is embarrassed to clean up in front of the other. They're boys; the gross things don't affect them, it's the intensity of eye contact when they're jerking off that's the real killer.

 It means things that they're just not ready to consider.

 

When sheriff Stilinski finally gets into the cruiser and drives Scott and Stiles down to the station, he doesn't comment on any weird, lingering smells. He was a teenage boy once, and he knows that it's the God-given right of every teenage boy to just smell weird, no matter what the cause, but he _does_ crack the window a bit. Scott turns purple and Stiles chokes on a laugh. The sheriff doesn't ask because he doesn't want to know.

 When the sheriff marches Stiles and Scott into the station, no one notices that both boys are each one sock short.


	2. Blowjobs as Apologies!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame Nixy for the Shania Twain. That was all her fault lol.

Scott and Stiles are fifteen and too old to call what they do 'sleepovers' anymore. They're all night gaming sessions, or movie marathons, or pretending like they're working on a group projects for school, but are really watching porn and eating all the bad food they can sneak out of the kitchen. Sometimes all of the above, like last night at the McCall's.

It's summer break, so nights like these happen pretty often.

Scott always takes the first shower when he's at Stiles' place, just like Stiles always gets the first one at Scott's. It's just nice to be polite. Stiles is cool with the second shower any time, though, because he knows he lags. He screws around in the shower, makes mohawks and Santa beards out of soapsuds, and plays water drop races with himself. And also just _plays_ with himself. But his favorite thing to do at the McCall's house is shower serenade.

 Mrs. McCall had one of those awesome detachable showerheads installed in the guest bathroom, and Stiles currently has it in hand and is splashing the inside of the shower curtain like a sprinkler as he wails along with Shania Twain. He's not especially into country music, but he's not adamantly against it; Shania Twain just happened to be what's currently blaring on the water-proof radio Scott has heaped on the counter, along with a bunch of his other junk.

 There's a knock on the door and Stiles' stomach flips, because he's still self-conscious about his body and the thought of anyone but Scott seeing him naked fills him with cold dread. Ironically, it's the same cold dread he feels at the thought of dying, which he thinks could make an interesting psychology study, or something.

 “It's me,” comes Scott's voice, and Stiles can tell just from the sudden change in air pressure that the door is half-open and he's poking his head in the bathroom. “I have to pee.”

 “So, go downstairs,” Stiles rolls his eyes, pointing the shower spray toward the tiles in front of him once he notices he's been watering the shower curtain.

 “The neighbor lady's over and I don't want to get dressed,” Scott hisses, and Stiles smirks because he can practically imagine Scott doing the pee-pee dance in the doorway.

 “Okay,” he laughs, before bringing the showerhead back up and belting out the chorus. “ _You're still the one I ruuuuuun to, the one that I belong to,_ ” and he honestly sounds like a back alley reject from some third rate knock off of American Idol. American Dying Cat Being Drowned in the Shower.

 “Dude, you need to shut up,” Scott laughs. “I can't even pee. Like, my pee is scared of your singing and won't come out.”

 “Everyone is a freakin' critic,” Stiles calls out over the shower spray and the radio, his voice echoing slightly in the small bathroom. “I could have been great!” he exclaims dramatically, and Scott laughs because he can see the shadow of Stiles' hand, gesturing out in front of his face as he reaches for the Grammy he'll never, ever win.

 Scott's grateful for the noise, though he still blushes a little at the sound of his stream hitting the water in the toilet. It's stupid to be shy about basic biological functions, especially around someone like Stiles, but he still is. He can't help it. He can't help a _lot_ of basic biological functions around Stiles these days, which he tries not to think about while he's peeing and while Stiles is wailing Shania Twain, because those aren't two things he ever wants to associate with sex later on in his life.

 “ _You're still the one that I loooooove, the only one I dream ooooof,_ ” Scott rolls his eyes and laughs as he puts himself away and flushes, grinning even harder when Stiles squawks at the sudden temperature change of the water. “ _You're still the one I ki_ –” he chokes suddenly and flails a hand out to bat at the shower curtain, and Scott's stomach drops as his best friend starts coughing violently.

 “Dude!” Scott says as he twists away from the toilet and grabs the curtain, yanking it back just in time to see Stiles bent over and spitting out a mouthful of water. “Are you okay?” One of Stiles hands is pressed against the wall in support of his coughing body, the other is still gripping loosely around the detached faucet, which is facing the wrong way because he'd sucked in a lungful of water when he sprayed himself in the face.

 As if to illustrate why Scott's pretty sure Stiles will never make a good driver, the moment the lanky teen glances over at Scott with wide eyes, he gets hit full-on in the face with warm water, because where Stiles looks, so goes his entire body.

 It's like one of those movie moments where the audience howls with canned laughter. Scott goes perfectly still and squeezes his eyes shut, scrunching up his face a bit as the entire front of his body gets drenched by a cascade of water. Stiles' face, by contrast, goes comically wide; eyes showing whites and his mouth dropping open like a fish.

 “Oh, shit,” Stiles hisses as he turns the showerhead back into the shower stall, while at the same time reaching for Scott's arm and tugging at him. “Get in or your mom will _kill_ us for getting water everywhere.”

 “ _Us_?” Scott grumbles as Stiles drags him into the shower. “Sorry, bro; I will totally sell you out to avoid the wrath of mom.” The steam curls around him, raising goosebumps on his arms and tightening his nipples almost painfully. He reaches up to absently rub his palms over them with an annoyed look.

 “You freaking traitor,” Stiles scoffs, and without hesitation he raises the showerhead and points it straight at Scott's face _again_.

 What follows is a flurry of sliding feet and grabbing hands, and water spraying all over the inside of the shower as both boys wrestle for control of the showerhead. Water even sprays _over_ the top of the shower curtain and hits the wall, the bathroom mirror, and the counter, completely negating Stiles' attempt at keeping them out of trouble.

 The sudden knock at the bathroom door has them both freezing, standing like statues as Mrs. McCall's voice comes through the thankfully locked door.

 “Scott? Is that you in there?” she calls out, and it's obvious she's trying to keep the tight annoyance out of her voice for the sake of the neighbor that's still downstairs.

 They exchange frantic looks, to which Stiles nods vehemently and sticks the showerhead back up in its cradle.

 “Yeah, mom!” Scott calls out. “Uh, sorry... I almost slipped. Sorry.”

 “Oh,” Mrs. McCall's tone immediately shifts, and is glazed with maternal concern. “Well, be careful, sweetie. I'll pick up some of those rubber thingies that stick to shower floor later on today, okay?”

 “Great! Thanks, mom!” Scott says cheerily, through he's rolling his eyes at Stiles while the other boy is leaning back against the wall, snickering silently.

 “Bet she gets you cute little duckies,” Stiles whispers as they listen to Mrs. McCall's footsteps carry her back downstairs. “Or pretty little flowers.”

 “Shut up,” Scott laughs as he reaches past him to shut the water off. “Come on, we should get out.”

 “Wait,” Stiles says, grabbing Scott's wrist as he chews at his lower lip, his eyes narrowing slightly as his tongue chases the scrape of his teeth over his own pink skin. He doesn't say anything else, just steps in and presses Scott back against the warm, wet tiles and kisses him.

 Just like that. The atmosphere changes just like that.

 Scott almost protests, because his mom's downstairs and if they stay in here much longer she's going to knock again. He _almost_ protests, but this is more important. The warm stretch and press of Stiles' lips against his, their hot, searching tongues, and the haste with which they both shove his now soaked and useless boxers down to splat heavy against the shower floor is the most important thing in the world right now.

 “I... I want to suck you,” Stiles murmurs against Scott's lips, his hands kneading at the leanly-muscled skin at Scott's sides. “Been wanting to for, like, _ever_.” As the dark-haired boy's breath draws in for courage and his dick twitches with an enthusiastic amount of interest, he watches Stiles' pupils dilate and can't help a shy, little grin. Both of their faces are flushed as they crush mouths together again, the kiss more out of self-defense than anything. Scott just nods into it; nods and reaches for Stiles' hand, pressing his palm against his quickly hardening dick.

 “You sure your throat can take any more abuse today?” Scott snickers, and though he's blushing like crazy he tries to keep some sort of cool, even as Stiles drops down to his knees in front of him. His best friends lips twist up in a smirk and amber eyes peer up lazily, like Stiles has all of this completely under control.

 And it's easily one of the hottest things Scott's ever seen.

 Stiles snickers softly and licks his lips, taking hold of Scott's dick in a warm, slender hand. He vaguely wonders if the shower floor is uncomfortable under Stiles' knees or if he feels claustrophobic because of the warm shower spray beating down on his back and raining water over his head, but his thoughts blank out pretty much the moment he feels Stiles' tongue curiously graze over the tip of his dick.

 The back of Scott's head hits the tiles with a dull thud, his fists balling up so tightly his nails dig into his palms as he hisses in an almost surprised breath. They've never done this before, but they've seen it plenty. Videos and videos and videos; jerking off while imagining your hand is a mouth. But no amount of lube in your palm is going to prepare you for the way it _really_ feels.

 Scott's teeth grit and his throat is tight as he fights to suppress the noises that threaten to echo through the shower. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, because it feels weird to put them in Stiles' hair, on his shoulders, so he just flattens them against the wet tiles behind him. The slick, hot slide of his best friend's lips stretch around him, tongue pushing clumsily up against the underside of his embarrassingly hard cock, and Stiles' hand compensates for what he's too anxious to take into his mouth. He sucks firm at the head, humming softly the entire time like a cat purring, while his much more confident hand fists along Scott's length, and it doesn't take long for the shorter boy's hips to start bucking gently.

 “Stiles–” he breathes through clenched teeth, and that's all the warning needed.

 Scott is a mess of throaty whines and tense, trembling thighs, and neither one of them is prepared when he suddenly comes hard, choking a surprised Stiles off of his cock. Scott's too blissed-out to notice his friend slump to the side and slide from his knees to his ass, silent as he spits out the bitterness in his mouth with an almost drunk-sounding laugh. All Scott can concentrate on is the feel of Stiles' hand, still moving languidly over his twitching, throbbing dick as the rest of his milky release disappears down the drain.

 They don't even have time to say anything, because it's not even fifteen seconds later that they both hear Mrs. McCall calling Scott's name from the bottom of the stairs. She's yelling something about him being in the shower for way too long, and if he wants to start pitching in on the water bill then she'll stop complaining.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Scott hisses, almost slipping in his haste to shut off the water and get out. “Sorry, man,” he whispers to Stiles, who's still sitting on the floor of the shower and laughing as silently as he can while Scott throws back the shower curtain and climbs out, grabbing the towel Stiles had brought in for himself. “I'll bring you another one in a sec,” he says, and Stiles just waves him off before folding over himself with the kind of bubbling, welling laughter that only comes from situations like these.

 

 Two days later and the boys are at Stiles' place, and Scott is in trouble because he's eaten Stiles' leftover pizza. There's a rule, you know; you can't eat someone elses' leftovers for two days. Two whole days. That's just the way it is. After that they're fair game; everyone knows that.

 “Without rules, all we have left is chaos,” Stiles sighs dramatically, sagging back against the counter with his arms folded, glaring at Scott who at least has the good grace to look chagrined. “You _know_ the two day rule, Scott. I swear it's, like, a law.”

 “It's not a law,” says the sheriff, who's avoiding this argument as much as he can by sticking to the perimeter of the war zone that's his kitchen, just trying to get his coffee before he leaves for work.

 “Well, it _should_ be a law,” Stiles huffs. “Dad, make it happen.” Scott snickers, which only earns him some more eye daggers from Stiles.

 “I can't just make new laws, kiddo.”

 “What's the point of being the sheriff's son if I can't take advantage of it for my own benefit?” Stiles complains, watching his dad walk toward the door that leads out into the garage, travel cup of coffee in his hand.

 “Oh, come on,” the sheriff says with a grin as he opens the door, glancing back over his shoulder at the boys. “You know you love all the paperclips I bring home. And the drunk driving awareness keychains.”

 “Oh my god, goodbye,” Stiles verbally shoos his dad out the door, rolling his eyes because they can still hear him laughing even as the garage door opens and they're finally left alone. The only sound in the house as Stiles looks back at Scott is the TV in the living room, which is playing an old re-run of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

 “Can I make it up to you?” Scott asks, cocking his head and giving Stiles an inquisitive smile.

 “I don't know, Scotty,” Stiles responds with a sigh as he folds his flannel-clad arms. “Cold pizza is the _best_ pizza. My mouth was _all_ ready for that pizza when I woke up this morning.”

 “I think I can make it up to you.” Scott grins a little before walking out of the kitchen and jogging up the stairs, leaving Stiles to putter around the kitchen in search of anything else that comes even remotely close to cold pizza for breakfast. Scott isn't gone longer than a minute though, before he comes bounding back into the kitchen.

 He slaps a piece of paper down onto the kitchen counter, eyes mischievous as he watches curious recognition light Stiles' features as the taller boy reads the newest scribbled addition to the list.

1\. ~~kiss me, dumbass~~  
2\. ~~mutual jerking off while watching porn~~  
3\. ~~handsies in the back of a squad car~~  
4\. ~~blowjobs??? (shower ftw)~~  
5\. blowjobs as apologies!

 Stiles' lips twitch and he immediately presses them together as tightly as he can, because blushing and smiling right now will totally ruin the nice head of steam he's worked up. Granted it's a totally pathetic head of steam, and he's not nearly as upset about the pizza thing as he's making out to be, but no one could ever accuse Stiles Stilinski of not being a little histrionic.

 “Intriguing offer, my friend,” Stiles says with his usual penchant for theatrics as he picks up the list between his index and middle finger. “I'm definitely open to hearing you out.”

 “You're _definitely_ a dumbass,” Scott snorts, before grabbing Stiles by the wrist and dragging him toward the stairs, leaving the sounds of vampire slaying downstairs behind them.


	3. Sex in the Woods, Baby

Scott and Stiles are sixteen, and it's not like Stiles is _jealous_ of Allison Argent as much as he's just really worried about Scott.

“Her dad's a hunter, dude,” Stiles sighs as the two of them tromp through the woods, backpacks hanging from their shoulders as the smell of stale air and general education linger on their clothes. “There's probably a weird message about self-loathing teenage angst in there somewhere. You're not secretly suicidal, are you?”

“Don't be a dumbass,” Scott scoffs.

“I'm not the one trying to kill myself for a little T and A,” Stiles teases, before stumbling off to the side at Scott's shoulder check. “Hey, watch the super strength, buddy,” he snickers as he drops his backpack in a tiny clearing, not too far from civilization, but not too close, either. It's a place he and Scott found when they were kids; a place they'd hidden out countless times to pretend to be anyone, any _thing_ they wanted.

This is where Stiles had spent nearly two days after his mom had died, hiding out in a tent and existing on gummi worms, an entire box of Cap'n Crunch, and warm Capri Suns. This is where Scott had broken the pinky on his right hand punching one of the really big cedar trees after his dad walked out on him and his mom. This is where they'd pretended to be superheroes, cowboys, hobbits and elves. It's where Stiles tried to tell Scott all about Star Wars when they were ten, but he was cut short when Scott had his first real asthma attack after trying to climb that same cedar tree. It had their names carved into it, now.

This is where they'd come to screw around sometimes, to kiss or to do other things they never wanted to get caught doing. The discovery of each other was like an addiction. Just like other kids their age would huddle around in alleys, sneaking cigarettes, booze, or coughing on joints, Stiles and Scott would secret away out here to indulge in their own mutual self-discovery.

And because of the circular poetry of it all, this is where Stiles is going to end their chapter.

“So, you really like her, huh?” Stiles sighs as he drops down to sit on a fallen log, one of many, but this one is special. Half of it had been scorched black three years ago after Scott started a fire in it, assuring Stiles it would be perfectly safe. He'd seen the bald guy on Bizarre Foods do it, and it hadn't gotten out of control for _him_. Yet another lesson in the magic of television.

“Yeah,” Scott says as he sits next to Stiles, and the taller boy just rolls his eyes and snickers because Scott can't wipe the dreamy smile off his face. “I mean, I _must_ really like her if I'm willing to chance it, right?”

“A violent, bloody, and humiliating end at the hands of her dad?” Stiles perks cheerily. “I don't know if boobs are worth that. There could be shock collars involved, Scott. There could be government experiments. We don't know anything about this guy.” He lowers his voice and leans in close, giving Scott his 'very serious' eyes. “Dude, there could be _anal probing._ ”

“The only anal probing I'm worried about is with _you_ ,” Scott snorts.

Stiles snickers before falling quiet for a few seconds longer than Scott apparently thinks he should, because he gets a nudge to his shoulder and an encouraging look from Scott for his troubles. Stiles grants his friend a lightly strained look before pushing to his feet and rubbing his hands against his thighs.

It's occurred to him in these past few minutes that he might not exactly be ready to let this go, but he also knows that they really need to. Stiles isn't sure about his own sexuality if he's being honest with himself, but he _does_ know that Scott's not gay and that he wants to be with Allison, so what could this possibly turn into for Stiles? Nothing good, that's for sure. Nothing that won't have him seeing a therapist in a year.

“I bet people get burglarized a lot less in the winter than they do in the summer,” he says completely randomly as his eyes drag over the rooftops in the distance; the houses that line the edge of the preserve. He's suddenly nervous, and embarrassed that he's nervous, and he knows Scott can probably tell that he's nervous which only makes it _worse_. Like a horrible loop of nervous stupidity.

“What are you talking about?” Scott asks, looking confused as he watches Stiles fidget.

“You know, you're less likely to go bar-hopping in a torrential downpour,” Stiles explains lamely. “So people don't leave the house as much when it's raining. So, less robberies.”

Scott's 'what the fuck, Stiles?' face is a thing of legend in some circles. “Where did this even come from?”

“I have no idea.” Stiles sighs and sags, but off course he does. He's stalling. “There are so many forks in the road of my mind. To be honest, I kind of brought you here to seduce you.” He laughs weakly and reaches up to rub at the back of his freshly-shorn head. “But I have no idea how to do that.”

Scott's silent for a few moments; just long enough to let a myriad of emotions play over his face, but none of them stick around long enough for Stiles to catch them.

“Oh, yeah?” he says finally, unable to keep from smirking, because his 'smug fuck' face is also a thing of legend, though maybe only just a little more recently and definitely on a much smaller legend scale.

“Yeah,” Stiles grins softly, dropping hands and shoving them into the pockets of his hoodie. “I figured, maybe one last hurrah before I give the bride away .”

“Okay,” Scott says with no hesitation, and that sort of throws Stiles. “Go for it. Seduce me.” He leans back and rests his hands on the log, attempting to recline seductively but failing and laughing when one of his hands slips on the charred wood.

“Shut up,” Stiles laughs, both at the situation and at Scott's clumsiness.

“No, seriously,” Scott protests as he stands, wiping his hands off on his jeans, though he never once takes his eyes off of Stiles. “I really think I need to see this before I die.”

Scott is fully invested, because he can _hear_ his best friend's heart beating heavy and quick, and he can _smell_ the change in the air, and it's pretty amazing. It's _amazing_. He knows when Stiles is lying and when he isn't, and he knows when Stiles is turned-on and when he's angry or sad or happy. It's like he knows Stiles better than he ever has, and it's kind of incredible how connected he feels to his best friend these days.

“Dude, you know I have no game,” Stiles laughs, shuffling over toward the big cedar tree that has their names roughly carved into the old, gnarled bark. “If I actually had game, I wouldn't still be a virgin.” He prods a long, bony finger against the S in his name, which only comes up to mid-chest now since they're both quite a bit taller than they were when they first carved the letters. “So I'll let you go to Allison with my generous good graces and substantial blessings–”

Scott rolls his eyes.

“– _if_ you complete the last item on the list,” Stiles smiles and turns, folding his arms with what could only be construed as a flourish, as if a person could actually fold their arms dramatically.

“The list _is_ complete,” Scott argues with a laugh.

“Clearly you're _still_ not wise to my ways,” Stiles smirks and pats himself on the chest, clearly playfully puffed-up and smug. “Which both delights me and makes me hate you a little.”

Stiles reaches into his back pocket and pulls out both his wallet and a pen, and Scott just shakes his head fondly as he watches Stiles scribble one last item on the very well-worn, stained, and about-to-crumble-into-dust-at-any-moment piece of notebook paper. With a smile he stands and holds the list up, his finger pointing right at the newly-penned list item for Scott to see.

1\. ~~kiss me, dumbass~~  
2\. ~~mutual jerking off while watching porn~~  
3\. ~~handsies in the back of a squad car~~  
4\. ~~blowjobs??? (shower ftw)~~  
5\. ~~blowjobs as apologies!~~  
6\. sex in the woods, baby

Scott's eyebrows shoot up as he takes the piece of paper from Stiles and runs his eyes over the words a second, even a third time. “Hm,” he hums, neither in the affirmative or the negative. Just 'hm'.

“'Hm'? That's all I get?” Stiles asks, starting to feel that awful nervous sweaty palms thing beginning to happen. He's setting himself up for the potential of some massive rejection here and he knows it, and as casual as this might appear to the outside observer, this could very possibly be the most important moment in Scott and Stiles' relationship. Stiles is suddenly terrified and has to heave out a deep breath to keep himself from bolting.

“You really–?” Scott asks, cocking his head as he regards his best friend with a look of both incredible affection and just a bit less skepticism. “With _me_?”

Stiles feels his shoulders drop in visible reaction, and his head clears. He shrugs and gives Scott a lopsided little smile; almost shy. “Yeah.”

“But we're not–” Scott's forehead furrows a bit as he gestures between them. “I mean, you _know_ I love you, but shouldn't our first times be with people we're _in_ love with?”

“I don't know,” Stiles admits honestly. “I've thought about that, but I've also thought about how putting way too much significance on something like losing your virginity can totally ruin it,” he laughs softly. “So why _not_ you and me? Get through it with someone I trust? I mean, if you're gonna run off and make little werewolf puppies with Allison, then I just think that we should do this with each other first.” He grins. “Dicks before chicks, right?”

“I'm not going to answer that because it might jinx me,” Scott laughs.

“Well, it's true,” Stiles smiles and gestures grandly with his hands. “Bros before hos, poles before holes, et cetera, et cetera, and so forth, ad naseum–”

Stiles' rambling is cut off when Scott steps in and grabs his hands, silencing him with a kiss. And this is no lame, pathetic, chaste kiss. This is a full-on, hands in the hair, bodies pressing, you-have-to-tilt-your-head-or-risk-a-bloody-nose, you-should-probably-check-to-make-sure-you're-not-pregnant _kiss_. It's hot and dirty, and Stiles feels Scott's invading tongue and nipping teeth all the way down in his cock, and by the time they break apart, his shallow breath is slightly shuddery.

“Damn,” Stiles breathes, lips parted as he opens his eyes to peer at his best friend who's still way too close not to touch; whose eyes are glinting and darker than usual with a lust Stiles' hasn't really ever been on the receiving end of before. “Should I take this to mean that _you're_ seducing _me_ , now?”

“Looks like I am,” Scott leans back in, murmuring against Stiles' lips before stealing another kiss; this one warm and soft. His hands slide down to grab at his best friend's waist, at his hips, gripping at the layers of bunched fabric as he slowly begins walking the now only _slightly_ taller boy backwards.

“Man,” Stiles rambles softly, his voice a little on the anxious side as his pulse speeds, his blood racing to pool between his legs. “I remember when you used to be so–”

“Constantly worried about everything?” Scott says, mouth dropping to brush over Stiles' chin before latching briefly to the warm, smooth skin on the side of Stiles' throat.

Stiles trips over something, a root probably, but Scott holds him steady and doesn't break stride. “Yeah,” Stiles lets out a nervous laugh, because the simple fact that his formerly asthmatic friend could now hold him up with one hand tied behind his back is so strangely hot, that Stiles is embarrassed to think about what that might mean about _him_.

“When _you_ used to call all the shots?” Scott grins, dragging his lips back up to Stiles' jaw, just as the taller boy's back meets the huge cedar tree. “And I always just went along with everything?”

“Yep,” Stiles smirks lightly, his own eyes now just as dark as Scott's in the dappled late afternoon sunlight that plays over the angles on their faces. Features that are sharpening, losing baby fat; shedding the signs of childhood. It wasn't too long ago that they had discovered each other, but now they're both on the cusp of adulthood, and neither wants to deny the fact that they have real, adult urges.

“Yeah, that's not gonna be a thing anymore,” Scott whispers, and Stiles shivers deliciously in the werewolf's arms as Scott's eyes give an unnatural gleam, and suddenly they're both less interested in the banter and much more interested in getting each others' clothes off.

“That werewolf thing is so unfair,” Stiles groans against Scott's mouth, because neither of them is willing to break the kiss until they absolutely have to, kicking off shoes and shoving down jeans and boxers, even shedding jackets, and in Stiles' case a flannel shirt, before _finally_ breaking apart to yank their tee-shirts off and tossing them in the pile.

“It mostly sucks,” Scott admits, unwilling to take his arms from around Stiles' waist as he reaches out with a sock-clad foot to fashion a makeshift nest of their discarded clothing. “But sometimes it has its perks. Like right now.”

Stiles has no chance to protest as Scott's hands slip down and grab at his ass, gripping him tight and hauling him up off his feet. The sound Stiles makes is totally undignified, and the way his quick hands grab at Scott's shoulder and into his hair bring a smile to the wolf's face. He's only in the air a few seconds before Scott settles him on his back in the clothing nest, as gently as he can, which isn't actually _very_ gently considering Scott overbalances them both and ends up dropping Stiles, before landing on top of him with an 'oof'.

“Smooth,” Stiles laughs, and his cheeks are flushed a brilliant pink that just makes Scott want to kiss him. So he does.

“Right?” Scott grins, his eyes crinkling at the edges the way they only do when he's really happy. “This is, like, some professional-level porn star seduction happening here.”

“I'm definitely feeling swoony,” Stiles nods solemnly. “But it could just be from your B.O.”

It's not until that moment, when their mutual laughter dies down to _almost_ awkward snickering, that they both realize they actually have no idea what they're doing. Not really, anyway. They've seen plenty of videos, but they've never really gone this far with each other. Never full-naked, full body-pressing, with the promise of actual sex looming on the horizon... they'd never even _considered_ taking things to this level until now.

“You really okay with this, Scotty?” Stiles asks softly, his face wearing a rare expression of seriousness as he hitches one slender leg up and pressing his bent knee against Scott's hip, noting that he's still on his hands and knees and hovering above Stiles; not quite touching him yet. “We _don't_ have to–”

“No, I want to,” Scott says, his voice a little rougher than usual as he stares down at Stiles, pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “I just... I want this– ”

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles smiles softly and reaches up to slide his fingers through Scott's hair, as his other arm loops around Scott's middle and tugs him down, finally closing that gap between them as their hot, naked skin connects fully for the first time.

 _I want this to be good for you,_ are the words that hang unspoken between them as their lips meet again.

It isn't elegant. It isn't sensual. It's clumsy and a little silly, and even a little painful as Scott slowly works a finger into Stiles, and latter having hidden some lube away in his backpack before he'd gone to school today, because he had this plan, you see. It's raw and intense between them, and unlike anything they've ever shared before. None of the countless handjobs or blowjobs or dry-humping they'd engaged in over the past few years could have possibly prepared them for this; that all felt like child's play compared to the the way it feels when Scott finally presses the blunt head of his cock against Stiles' stretched hole.

He kisses his best friend through the pain, through the whimper-whines and the nails digging into the meat of his back. Kisses him and hums softly as he clamps down on a shudder, trying not to lose himself in the insanely tight heat of Stiles' body, because Stiles is trembling and has his legs wrapped like a vice around Scott's ribcage. Scott thinks that maybe this is just one more perk of being a werewolf; no cracked ribs and at least he can still breathe.

“You okay?” he gasps once he's all the way in, and Stiles is panting heavy and his eyes are glazed, pupils blown like he's either in a tremendous amount of pain or pleasure, but they both know it's both. Stiles nods almost like an afterthought, and Scott's eyes squeeze shut as he feels his friend's body tighten around him, an almost stomach-twisting lance of pleasure shooting through him. “ _God_ , Stiles– fuck...”

“Please don't think less of me in the morning,” Stiles breathes suddenly, catching Scott's attention and pushing his eyes open again. It takes him a second before he chokes a laugh, face dropping to press against Stiles' cheek.

“Like that's even possible when I think so little of you already,” he teases, rolling his hips in an experimental thrust that has Stiles' body tensing and arching gently beneath him, a throaty sound gracing the darkening evening air around them.

“I hate you,” Stiles groans as he digs a heel into Scott's lower back, and the werewolf takes that as a green light and pushes into Stiles again.

“I love you, too,” Scott grins, lips pressing against Stiles' pulse-point before he pushes himself up to an elbow, hips rocking slowly as he drags himself back out, feeling the telltale swell of nerves inside as the ridge of his cockhead catches on it, and Stiles' hips jerk and he chokes on a moan. “Oh, thank god,” Scott actually whispers to himself, feeling himself relax almost instantly, because he'd both read and heard horror stories about sex with other guys being painful and awkward if you couldn't find the sweet spot.

“Th-that–” Stiles stutters as his legs tighten around Scott, the wolf picking up a bit of a faster pace because he's very, _very_ quickly getting addicted to the feel of Stiles' body, so hot and tight around him. “ _Yes,_ that is... _yes_...”

“God, right?” Scott groans, licking at Stiles' collarbone before latching his lips to it and sucking at the skin. His toes dig into the dirt as he reaches for one of Stiles' hands and shoves it between them, pressing it against his erection. “You should touch yourself,” he mouths hotly along Stiles' taut skin, fumbling as he tries awkwardly to curl his friend's hand around himself, but Stiles is aware enough to get a good grip, the touch setting him squirming slightly beneath Scott, and both teens gasp hotly at the sudden jerk of Stiles' hips.

“Scotty,” Stiles says, his voice tight and gravelly as he lifts his other hand to Scott's shoulder and squeezes, as if to get his attention. “Where's the lube?”

Scott grunts and throws his hand out to the side, smacking it on one of their pairs of jeans before finding the bottle. With an almost reluctant scrape of his teeth over Stiles' skin, he pushes himself up a bit and glances down at where they're joined, humming low in his throat as his skin heats and prickles with another wave of arousal. His grip on the bottle tightens a bit as he watches himself sink into Stiles' body, then slide slowly back out again, his shaft shiny and slick as Stiles' body clings to him like a vice.

“Fuck,” he whispers, giving his head a bit of a shake as Stiles' grumbly whine snaps him out of it, and he presses the bottle into his friend's hand before reaching down to grab Stiles' hips. “I'm gonna lift–” he mutters half to himself, barely giving Stiles the chance to pop the lid with his shaking hands before he drags Stiles' hips up and holds him, both boys letting out near-unison groans as that makes _all_ the difference.

“Shit,” Stiles gasps, his eyes wide as he lifts his head and stares down, watching as Scott's hips thrust a little faster, harder, and each drag of his cock slides roughly along Stiles' prostate, sending the taller boy into a trembling mess. “ _God_ , Scott...”

“Lube, Stiles,” Scott says with a breathy chuckle, because now that he's found his rhythm, and now that Stiles is a gasping mess of noodle limbs and gripping heat beneath him, he can't help feeling a little badass.

“Fuck off,” Stiles gasps, his lips curving up at the corners as he breathes a soft laugh and doesn't even make the effort to keep clean and classy, just turns the bottle over and sort of squirts it in the direction of his dick, which is hard as hell and bobbing against the concave of his stomach with each of Scott's hard thrusts.

“What are you–?” Scott asks, before dissolving into giggles that stutter his thrusts, and the sound Stiles makes he'll be swearing Scott to secrecy over for the rest of their life.

“Shut up,” Stiles grits through his his teeth, before smearing a hand through the lube and tossing the bottle aside. “I'm distracted, okay? You're doing _things–_ all these _things..._ ” And when he gets a warm, slick hand back around his cock, Stiles groans so loudly that Scott actually feels his stomach drop with sudden apprehension, his ears pricking as the paranoia sets off his werewolf senses.

Stiles is blissfully unaware, because his hand is slick and his cock is aching with each firm stroke, and Scott almost misses his window. It's only the sudden sharp scent of Stiles blood rushing and his skin musking that re-focuses the wolf. His hands squeeze a little too tight on his Stiles's hips as he darts his eyes back down, mouth hanging open as he catches his breath in a few gulping pants.

“Not yet,” Scott implores, thumbs rubbing in the hollows of Stiles' hips as Scott slows his thrusts a bit, but brings them in harder, setting the sound of skin smacking and bodies coming together into the air around them. “Don't come until I tell you to.”

Stiles slides a hand down to squeeze tight around the base of his own cock, his eyes squeezing shut tight as he digs his head back into his own tee-shirt, a tight, controlled sound in his throat as he curbs his building pleasure. “Ugh, _why_?” he demands, thighs tight and trembling around Scott' hips as the wolf leans back over him, hands catching on the ground on either side of Stiles.

“Because if you come first, it won't feel as good,” Scott murmurs, before catching Stiles' lower lop in his teeth and sucking on it, his cock driving easily into his best friend's perfect, receptive body, all taut and hot and smelling like _need_ and shaking with want.

“Bullshit–” Stiles whines, his protest mumbled near incomprehensible against Scott's mouth, and Scott can feel, can _smell_ how close Stiles is, and it's almost too distracting for him to keep himself under control.

“I swear,” he gasps, dropping his forehead to rest against Stiles' as he feels his groin twist and coil with hot pleasure. “I read it– ahh, _shit_ ,” he gasps, letting out a guttural groan as his orgasm takes him by surprise, shooting from the base of his spine and through him, hips stuttering and jerking hard against Stiles as he fills his best friend with hot release.

“ _Fuck_ , Scotty,” Stiles whimpers, the muscles in his neck straining as he pushes his head back into the ground, his body whip-tight and trembling as he works a shaky hand over his own cock. The smell of Stiles' precum fills Scott's entire being, and he doesn't even realize that he's shot a hand down to cover over Stiles', forcing his grip tighter and jerking him harder, faster, until Stiles is gasping for breath and spilling over both of their hands.

They lay there in the gloaming for a good five minutes before Stiles starts to squirm a bit, his tongue darting lazily out over dry lips, and a soft sound of protest in his throat. Scott doesn't need to be told; he lifts himself up wearily, just far enough to shift his hips back and gently pulls out of Stiles, before rolling over to sprawl out alongside him, completely uncaring of the fact that he's laying mostly on the forest floor while Stiles is still on their clothes. He _is_ a werewolf, after all. Rolling around in the woods is a thing for them, right?

“How are we gonna explain all the dirt and grass stains?” Stiles asks, his voice languid and heavy and tinged with satisfied amusement.

“Spontaneous lacrosse practice?” Scott offers, as he brings a hand up to comb fingers through his sweaty, messy hair, before turning to grin lazily at Stiles. “Seems to work for most things, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles chuckles. “Yep.”

More silence passes, but it's comfortable and nice, and it proves to them that this _was_ the right thing to do. There's no awkwardness, no haste to get dressed and rush off; only companionable togetherness, which brings a smile to Stiles' face.

“Okay, we should get up because I'm starting to get really gross and sticky,” Stiles says with a shameless laugh. Scott snorts and sits up, not hesitating to tug off one of his socks and offering it to Stiles. “Fuck you,” Stiles laughs harder, but he _does_ take the sock, and Scott pulls off his other one, and together they make a poor attempt at at least wiping up the majority of their mess.

 

“So, you're okay with Allison, right?” Scott asks after their clothes are back on and their feet are planted firmly on the ground, because a little part of him knows that after all these years, the last thing he wants to do is to lose Stiles over a girl.

“Yeah, totally,” Stiles says with a lopsided grin, as he runs a hand over his freshly-buzzed head. “With the exception of you guys having some ridiculous and potentially fatal Buffy and Angel relationship thing, I think you're good together. She seems like cool people.” He drops down on the log to put his shoes on and grins. “All this stuff between you and me is just been getting in the way of my ten-year-plan for Lydia, anyway.”

Scott snorts and rolls his eyes, but Stiles' smile is sincere.

“So, uh... what do you say we send this thing off like a viking?” he asks, grabbing up the half-crumpled list, now complete with a mud-stain and half-torn from whichever one of them stepped on it in their haste to get at one another.

“A proper burial,” Scott says with a smile and a nod. “No less than it deserves.”

Stiles crosses off the last item on the list with no ceremony before producing a lighter from his backpack. The two boys crouch down right across from each other, and in a tiny little dirt hole dug into the ground by both of them, they burn the list and watch the ashes of that chapter of their life float off on the breeze.

“You want to grab a burger, or something?” Stiles asks as he straightens back up and grabs his backpack, squinting a bit in the direction of the now almost fully-set sun. He doesn't want to say anything because this is a turning point, sort of, and Stiles isn’t the type to romanticize things the same way Scott does, but he can definitely feel a change in the air.

“Totally,” Scott says with a smile, his hand moving to rest warmly on the back of Stiles' neck and giving a squeeze as they walk back toward civilization. “Just don't forget to take your leftovers home this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://galaxied.tumblr.com/) . [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxied) . [policy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/profile)


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